


I’ll Be With You at the End of Time

by Cyntax_Error



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Alcohol, Amnesia, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Existential Crisis, F/F, Friendship, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hurt/Comfort, Lapp is nothing but a sweetheart, M/M, Other, POV First Person, Patches is... himself, Requited Love, Romance, Suggested Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:53:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28532475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyntax_Error/pseuds/Cyntax_Error
Summary: The Ashen One, long since hollowed, wanders the empty expanse of the end with nothing but an ember of duty flickering within them.Suddenly, they stumble across someone - someone that reignites the fire within, and slowly their memory returns.
Relationships: Ashen One/Unbreakable Patches (Dark Souls)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	I’ll Be With You at the End of Time

**Author's Note:**

> From my one-shot series “Oh, Patches” that I’ve decided to publish stand-alone.

You didn’t feel much these days - you haven’t felt much of anything these past few... was it years? Decades? You don’t bother to remember, not that you could, anyhow. There were no more of days creeping into nights, and the sky no longer cried. Everywhere you stepped was so dry, and the closest thing you encountered to soil was the ashes that would stick to your boots in clumps; wetted by the fluids of those who would see fit to stand in your way.

What faint memories you possessed felt more like echoes bouncing in your mind. A fleeting warmth you knew silly to cling to. The only things that were burned into your memory was the bright light that engulfed you and formed you into who you are now...

...and the souls of those who kept you company in your brief respites.

Another one crossed your path for the first time in what seemed like many, many lifetimes. Everywhere you stepped was covered in no less than a foot of ash, and towers of different castles collided to form bastardized versions of places you can recall for only a moment. But there, crouched low not unlike the wary docile hollow who choose to rest than to mindlessly battle, a bulky figure kneels along the remnants of a rockslide from eons ago. It was miraculously clear of any ash.

You approached them weapon drawn, ready to cut them down, but for some reason the figure didn’t move. They only turned their head and spoke.

You clutched at your chest and gasped. You collapsed into the ash, kicking up a thick cloud that coated your already dry mouth and made your eyes water. The ash never bothered you in this way before. Your innards felt as though they boiled inside you, but as quick as the burning sensation came, it disappeared, leaving a pained scorch in its place.

The figure, the man who introduced himself as Lapp, fell to his knees at your side and began to fret over you.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything to cure your ailment,” You felt his large hands grab you by the shoulders and pull you back to lean against his chest plate. You could feel the burn in your chest linger beneath your skin. “but I find the ash does that to one such as us. You’ll live, won’t you?”

He chuckled after his rhetoric question. Even as you heaved for air to to fill your screaming lungs, he still kept that jesting tone about him.

Still kept. How could a stranger keep something up that you’ve never known before?

It feels like the first breath of air you’ve had in centuries, you told him. Your chest and eyes have never hurt like this before, you said.

You lifted your arms to your helm. The metal dome around your head felt like it was suffocating you. Watching you move a bit better than before, Lapp shifted away. You struggled for a moment with the rusted clasps at the back of your helm, but the moment they loosened, you threw your helmet away into the ash. When the clouds of the thick, velvety dust settled from around the two of you, you looked towards Lapp.

His helmet fell slightly, no longer standing tall on his now slumped shoulders. “Ah,” his voice wavered for only a moment before dropping to a sullen tone. “I see. So we’re both turning hollow.”

Turning hollow.

You reached out for Lapp’s bulky chest plate, and with your gloved fingers you brushed away the coating of white to reveal a dull reflection beneath. He didn’t turn away when you leaned forward. There, in your reflection, your greyed skin appeared just a tinge pinker, and your once completely sunken-in sockets now contained a glimmer of light.

-

Amnesiac Lapp. That’s how you felt, too. Not a single name comes to mind, and the one he addressed himself by triggers nothing. No, but it was his voice that seemed to breathe life into you. It’s nice to listen to, you figure.

“What brings you to the end of the world, dove?”

You lifted your fixed gaze from the dying vines crawling up the cliff face you and your acquaintance sat at the foot of, and out to the bright swirling sky. A slender figure with enormous wings drifted languidly through the sky, watching over castle remnants as their caster’s duty once was. Nothing appeared beyond the white rolling fog.

You wander, you told him. Or, no, you’ve not spoken a word to him this entire time. Lapp was somehow in your head, listening to your thoughts and responding as if you’d used your mouth. You had your helmet on once more, so you didn’t mind flexing your jaw muscles while hiding beneath it. You can’t remember a time you’ve spoken - if you ever had the ability to.

“So your legs brought you to the Dreg Heap.” Lapp determined. He gave a half-spirited chuckle. “As all things do, it seems. Did Nan up there have a word with you?”

So that hunched over maid wrapped in cloths and a shell wasn’t just a figment of your imagination. You nodded.

“Give you that talk of “keeping your marbles together”, did she? Bah.” Lapp shook his head to the best of his ability in the stiff, frog-like helmet. A peculiar thing to wear without a horse and lance near. “We needn’t worry about that for much longer. I’ve come all this way,”

Lapp’s gloved fingers dove beneath the ashes and brought a fistful up, watching as the hollow remains rush out of his loosened grip. “and I’m not about to give up now.”

Lapp told you about the purging monument. A grand thing to cleanse oneself, be it the cloudiness of the mind or to eradicate any possibility of having lived once before. Being the inquisitive type, Lapp continued. “Perhaps even you could find use for it. That little twinkle in your eye tells me you’ve not lost it all up there, have you? It’s not too late for you.”

You didn’t understand what he meant. It was never too late. Time had stopped, or so it seemed, and there wasn’t anything to scrub yourself of. His continual use of the word “hollow” in the one-sided conversation seemed to be the very thing he sought to set himself free from. His contempt made it clear he found it akin to a slur.

“So what if we’ve got a screw loose!” Lapp scoffed, but a sudden warmth pulled your attention away from the fogginess of the end. Lapp lifted your hand from where it laid limp beside you, and squeezed it in his own. “We’ll keep one another on the right path, and when we’ve got all our memories, our names,” he stressed his desperation for your identities, “we’ll forge new ones, friend.”

While he was content to sit and dream further, that pulling in your body you’ve never been able to ignore drew your attention away from him. It’s time to continue, you told him, in your mind. You pulled your heavy body up from where you sat by his lantern, and he allowed your hand to slip from his. Something twitched in your chest. It was a small sting, but nothing like the lingering burning sensation. It seemed knowing, like you’d know this Lapp fellow would have no qualms seeing you off wherever your body felt magnetized to.

Leaving without so much of a word made you feel a certain way. You glanced over your shoulder at him, as much as your helmet would allow. Muscle memory guided your arm upward, bringing your elbow about even with your shoulder, and raised your hand to make a fist. He reciprocated your action.

It would be some time before you would come across one another again.

That same pulling force caused you to drop into what felt like the centre of the world and come out the other side to a slowly degrading city bathed in bright light and covered in flowers. The place before - the Dreg Heap? - was years in the past now. The foes here are much more formidable than... than what?

You took a moment to drink in the city from the spot those strange imps dropped you. How strange they were, that they would respond the very moment you thrusted the tattered banner you had forward at the edge of the cliff.

You spotted the welcoming glow of undisturbed embers not far down the stone staircase. As you made your way towards it, a weak hand darted out from the toppled boulders to snatch your ankle. Lying in a small patch of dirt, nestled among sparse white flowers and hidden from view by the boulders, a being that mirrored your exact frame wheezed out,

“They brought thee here, did they not?”

You nodded.

“Dost thou the gods serve? Or merely, that role affect?”

You opened your mouth beneath your helmet, but you couldn’t will yourself to speak.

“Art thou so gone that thy mandible hath seamed itself? Pity.”

Upon the crippled’s last words, you drew your sword. Pity your feeble form, you spoke. That word, pity, invoked an unexplainable rage within you, especially coming from one splayed in the dirt, clutching your boot.

But the pygmy did not flinch.

“Sheath thy weapon, for I am a true ally to thee.”

Something within you compelled you to obey.

He spoke to you of the flimsy prop that was Filianore; slumbering princess placed by the deceitful gods. You would seek out her church and awaken her to find a way towards the Dark Soul this dirty creature spoke of. The moment those words fell from his receding lips, “the Dark Soul”, pain swelled in your chest once more.

“But adept in errands, are we not? ‘Tis not the first form of nobility thoust sought.”

A vivid memory flashed in your mind. A pale white figure with flowing, faded tresses hunched over the body of a much more gargantuan man with equally white skin and greyed hair. He cried gold over his... his brother, and weaved together his soul with magics steeped in sunlight.

You kicked the pygmy’s hand away from your boot and fled towards the ancient bonfire.

-

You opened your eyes. You fell asleep at the bonfire, you think, that was tucked away in the corner of a stone room below the ethereal archers that turned you into a pincushion. Your legs no longer screamed in agony from pushing yourself to sprint so far with such heavy metal plates on. You haven’t had to run quite like that since you ran across the rickety bridge within the ruins to chop it down and send an army of risen bones to their death... Why were you running, again?

You decided it didn’t matter anymore. You pulled yourself up by the vines that grew along the walls, but as you did, something caught your attention down a rather short corridor leading to a cliff face. You reached for the hilt of your blade, but stopped. Something within you stayed your hand and you approached the turned figure, making sure to clang your boots against the stone floor as not to spook the figure.

You passed through the archway and out into a large stone balcony jutting out from the cliff side beneath a large bridge. To your left below, you could see a town cluttered with flowers, and to your right, a swamp bubbling with strange, black liquid.

“Ah, I’m happy to see you in one piece!” He turned to you, greeting you as if you’d met before. “A blessing that we should seek the same place, and find ourselves standing here, together.”

You tilted your head. The tall figure’s shoulders visibly sagged. “Oh... You don’t remember me?”

No, you did remember him. He looked different than before; cleansed of the thick coat of white ash, revealing the darker grey armour beneath. You squinted your eyes. You opened your mouth, you willed yourself to speak... but not a sound came out that was loud enough for him to hear.

Instead, you patted your armoured lap. Lapp threw back his head and belted out a laugh.

“Yes!” He cheered and lifted his arms to bring you into an embrace. You stiffened at his touch, but he didn’t notice right away. “You’re beginning to remember me better than me.” He chuckled and set you free. Something about feeling warmth near you felt... good. You wouldn’t mind another.

Lapp turned away for a moment to reveal two mugs, and a waterskin. “I’ve got the last of my brew here. Let’s have our own little toast with it.”

He handed you one of the simple pewter mugs and poured out a frothy amber-coloured liquid from the waterskin and into your mug. You swished it’s around and brought it to the edge of your helmet to take a sniff. Smelled strongly of something particular that made your nose sting. He poured the same alcohol into his mug and let the now empty waterskin drop to the stone floor of the balcony.

“To my search,” he lifted his mug in the air. You hesitated a moment, but mirrored his action. “and to your duty, and to the joy that lies before us. Cheers!”

Lapp unclasped the tiny metal latch on his helmet with one hand and opened the top portion, revealing enough of his face to throw back his drink. You reached around to unclasp yours, but sadly your helmet didn’t open like that. You slipped off your helmet and gulped down all of Lapp’s brew.

It burned going down your throat, but the sensation immediately turned to a feeling of warmth sliding down your esophagus to radiate warmth from your stomach. The taste was familiar - spicy and strong.

“Dearie me,” you heard Lapp say. You licked your lips and brought the mug down to see what he was staring at. You could see a dark decay growing up from the left side of his cheek, up and over his nose. You didn’t expect him to be so bald and... strangely smooth. His now dark lips twitched upwards into a smile. “I believe you’re starting to look, well, almost normal.”

You lifted the helmet you had in your hand and gazed at your reflection in the metal. Your skin turned from it’s dark, wrinkly complexion to a shade that made you look terribly ill, and your eyeballs had finally emerged from the back of your skull as shaded orbs. You appeared more like a month old corpse than a rotted cadaver left to bake in the sun.

“Has your mind been clearer lately?” He asked. When you nodded, his brows pinched together upwards. “Still not able to speak then?”

You squeaked out a sound, but shook your head. You slipped your helmet on, and he did the same by flicking the top of his helmet down and clamping it shut.

“Boy, do I wish I had more of this.” Lapp hooked the handle of the mug around his finger and swung it about. “If I had a choice on how I lose memories, it’d have to be this way.”

You lifted the mug and looked at it quizzically. You tilted your head, then raised it to him.

Lapp looked at you through the slit in his helmet for a moment, before giving a stunned laugh, “You mean you drank it without knowing what it was? I could have poisoned you, for all you know.”

You inspected the empty mug. Something in you told you it was highly doubtful.

Lapp continued. “Picked up the recipe from, erm,” he snapped his fingers of his free hand. “a peculiar bloke. Alright chap, easy enough to... to...” his hand flew to his helmet, to imitate the action of holding his head. “I... Is it odd I want to call him an onion?”

For some reason his remark about this “onion bloke” tickled you in your ribs, and so badly did this sudden urge to laugh come over you. You were able to stifle out a quiet chortle. Your throat was still so dry and sore.

“I don’t think he’d much like to be called an onion.” Lapp said. The warmth from the alcohol you drank slowly creeped up from your stomach and into your chest. “It’s a... I think he called it a Siegbrau. It certainly tastes like a cup of victory.” Lapp took your mug from your hands and set it atop the deflated waterskin. “I would ask if we met before, when I was fully here, but judging by our current states I don’t think we could answer, even if we’d like to.”

Lapp suggested a small break at the bonfire, before setting off once more. You both sat, backs leaned against the stone wall of the interior room in the corner, basking in its comforting warmth. This break was extended a bit more than intended, and as the time went on you found yourself scooting closer to Lapp, and he found it to be suiting to throw an arm around you. He played with the idea of meeting you before, but try as you might, not a single memory of him came to surface.

“Perhaps in passing.” He suggested. “Or we were acquaintances long ago.”

You were feeling pulled in by the warmth of the bonfire. It wasn’t the most comfortable, leaning against a man in a bulky suit of armour, but you didn’t care. “Suppose it doesn’t matter right now. Once I find that Purging Monument, we’ll have our answer. Everything will come back to me. Who I was, what I lived for, what my name was, and...”

He paused. “what terrible grudges I had.”

You shifted slightly to stare up at Lapp. He shrugged the best he could. “I dunno, I just have this feeling... That that’s the kind of man I was.” His tone picked up to one of jest. “Oh, but don’t hold it against me, dove. I only think I was!”

After a few silent minutes of staring into the fire, Lapp shifted and stood from where he could remain seated forever. He explained it was about time he set off and bid you farewell. Just as he turned, he raised his arm to give you the same gesture you had given him. You reciprocated, and he was gone.

You stumbled up from your seated position and made your way out onto the balcony once more. You gripped the crumbling stone rail as tight as you could, and stared out into the bubbling swamp. You closed your eyes, and you could almost hear the darkness call to you.

-

Black, viscous liquid bubbled along the surface of the rocks that jutted out of the abyssal swamp. You stood just at the edge, a peculiar birch branch in hand.

_“Oh, hello there.” The bulky armour slumped over in a wooden arm chair raised it’s tall necked helmet to stare at the figure who stumbled in. You recognized the armour, and the name attached, thus the twinge in your chest deepened. “Have- Have we met before? I’m-“_

_The male voice within the armour stopped himself to heave a distressed sigh, and slumped his helmet in his hands. “I- I almost forgot you, dove.” His voice wavered. “Oh, gods, forgive me.”_

_He brought his hands away from his helmet. They slowly balled into fists, and unfurled, as if testing the movement of his joints. “I can’t find the bloody thing.” He whispered. “I’ve searched high and low.”_

_You couldn’t quite place your finger on the thing he was looking for. It was a tall thing; a monument of sorts, you thought._

_“What… What if it was never here in the first place?” He questioned his own sanity aloud. “You wouldn’t have happened upon it, would you?”_

_To Lapp’s dismay, you shook your head._

_“Perhaps I should just forget it- forget it all. Like a good hollow would.”_

_The metallic ring from his helmet made you question if it was another sigh he let out, or a quiet sob._

_“Stop. Damn it all, stop it!” He urged to himself, giving the side of his helmet a swift bang of his fist. It was almost as if he had forgotten your presence. “I’m unbreakable; unbreakable, you hear? ...What- What was I doing…?”_

Your thumb ran along the nearly smooth edge of the branch, feeling the subtle ridges in the bark. It felt so warm in your hold, and comforted you when you first arose from your tomb a failure; an unkindled. Your first possession, one that assured you warmth when there was no fire near, and one that gave you a precious distant memory of a friend you were only able to remember after witnessing your only living friend struggling to grasp at memories.

You brought the branch to your chest and clutched it close with both hands. Even before losing yourself so much, you were never able to remember who the memory of this distant friend was, or why they gave you this branch as your burial gift.

Show your humanity.

You sent a silent thank you to the heavens above, to your friend of lifetimes ago, and an apology, for using their gift to save another’s life.

You stepped into the bubbling liquid, knee deep, and snapped the white birch branch.

-

You raced back to him as fast as your legs could carry you. You leapt over the discarded weapons left behind by your fallen enemies, and finally skidded into the round room covered in vines and decaying flowers. Lapp lifted his hanging head from where he sat on the old, wooden chair, and jolted when you collapsed to your knees between his legs. You fumbled violently with the rusted clasp at the back of her helmet, but finally managed to fling it off, much like you did when you first met him.

You could hear his shaking breath beneath his helm as he lifted his hands to cradle your now human face in his gloved hands.

“My,” he whispered. “look at you, dove. You’re so... so beautiful.” His fingers tenderly rubbed your rosy cheeks, and you felt yourself leaning into his touch.

“Lapp,” you cooed up at him. “I found it.”

His fingers trailed along up your scalp to feel your hair. You clutched his wrists and sighed. “I was beginning to think I may never hear you speak. You sound like a dream - better than I ever thought. Just... wow.” he let tresses of your hair fall from between his fingers. “Won’t you come with me to the monument?”

Your heart sank. So badly did you wish to stay in this moment longer with Lapp and not have to see Patches ever again. “I... I cannot.” You whispered. “It was never my journey to make. Mine is elsewhere.”

You didn’t want to be anywhere near Lapp when he would have all his memories flood back to him, and reel away from you in disgust. You were never friends, well, not good friends, and you would never admit it aloud but you fell in love with how soft he was with you.

“I will find you again, once your memories have returned,” you continued. “and we shall settle ourselves once and for all.”

Lapp’s helmet tilted. “Settle ourselves? What do you mean?”

You couldn’t help the sad little smile that surfaced to your lips. You buried your cheek further into his hand, soaking up whatever warmth he radiated for the last time. “We knew each other once, and we didn’t quite have the sort of relationship we do now.”

“Dash it - Dash it all!” Lapp spat. “I don’t care for whatever we were before; enemies or sworn rivals, it doesn’t matter. You have been nothing but a guiding light, keeping my head on and all. I swear to you, upon my birth name, that I am your friend. It doesn’t matter what I- we, were, or what we might come out as. Please, do me the honour of allowing me to be a true friend to you, always.”

You stared into one another’s eyes through the slit in his helmet. You released the light grip you held on his wrists, and reached up to remove his helmet from his shoulders. Your stomach churned upon seeing how far Hollow he had become. The dark plague had completely overtaken his left eye and threatened to swallow his right.

You bit back a pained sigh. You wanted to accept his pledge, and yet, “Please, hurry to the monument, before it’s too late.” you begged.

Lapp took his helmet from your grasp and tossed it aside. “You must allow me to be a true friend to you.”

You shook your head. “Go now, before you lose yourself.”

“Sweeting,” he spoke softly. You remembered that’s what he used to call you, long ago when he would sell you the odd end here and there. “there’s not a chance in hell I could ever turn completely Hollow in your arms.”

His sweet sentiment caused you to smile and pulled a small laugh from you. “You’ll remember everything you’ve said to me, you know. As Lapp.”

“That’s what I was hoping for.” He whispered. You closed your eyes and took in the feeling of his fingers coming back to gently caress your cheeks. “Might I kiss you, dove?”

You opened your eyes. He stammered at the look you gave him. “If- If what you say is true, then I’d like to kiss you when I mean it most.” He gave you a sheepish laugh.

Lapp knelt down off his chair when you nodded, pulling you closer between his knees to his chest by your shoulders. His lips felt as textured as they looked, but not rough. You felt a light puff of warm air escape his nostrils; he sighed dreamily into your kiss. Heat slowly crept up from your abdomen and made its way into your healthy cheeks.

It took you a moment comprehend what Lapp was staring at when you broke the kiss and slowly pulled away. He grinned at the sight of you. “That’s the sort of pink I’d like to make you turn all over,” he chuckled quietly, “but that’ll wait for another day. Hopefully one soon, my treasure. I’m off.”

He leaned in once more to plant a quick kiss on your lips before pulling away and grabbing his helmet he tossed away. You remained seated on your knees as you watched Lapp stand to full height.

“In the side streets, by the sunken church, go up the ladder and across the way until you come to a set of stairs. The monument is just over the bridge.” You spoke up to him.

He bade you one last fond farewell with a squeeze of your hand, and he was gone. You were left to slump forward and rest your head on the seat of the chair he once sat at; left to mourn over the loss of the sweetest man you had come to know, and the man you fell in love with. You sighed. You would be dealing with Patches, soon enough, and who knew how he’d take everything that transpired between you two. Would he mock you? Would he rely on his signature trick of booting you from an elevated surface, or trap you somewhere to rot? However he would return to you, you weren’t excited about it.

With heavy heart, you stood from where you slumped over and reached for your helmet. Perhaps there was a chance you never had to see him again.

But oh, you were wrong, and in your silent mourning Lapp had managed to make it to the monument in one piece, and as deftly as he came, he left to continue his life’s purpose. Starting with you.

You dashed into the cave, just in time to feel the metal plate of your armour become uncomfortably hot from the giant dragon’s breath. Midir, that mousey priestess Shera, told you about from behind a set of doors. A once powerful ally, overcome with the abyss.

A hunched over, shrivelled old woman stood before you in a set of crumbling spiral stairs, carved out of the wall. You slipped a foot in front of the unsuspecting hollow’s ankle and gave her a swift push, knocking her over into the pit at the centre of the spiral stairs.

A little piece of muted, dark red cloth caught your eye. Flittering in the updraft coming from the pit, a ripped strip of cape hung over the ledge of a half-collapsed landing just across the way. You maneuvered yourself over a crumbled wall to the landing, only to find an alcove filled with ash, webs, candles... and Lapp, crouched low into a squat.

You stayed frozen long enough to see his helmet lift to gaze at you, then took off the way you came. You managed to just clamour to the top of the collapsed wall before you heard, “Where’re you going, love?”

You spared him the briefest of glances before shakily climbing off the unsteady heap of stone. You could hear his armour clank behind as he pursued you. You heard his metallic laugh from within his helmet.

“Oh, I see.” He chuckled darkly. “Playing hard to get, my treasure? I like this game.” When he stalked you to the lip of the tunnel you escaped the dragon in, he stopped. “What? You’d rather face that big bird than have our little reunion? Don’t remember me?”

You stiffly turned to spit venom at him, then stopped yourself. You glared through the slit in your helmet, then turned to poke your head out of the tunnel in the mountain to search the skies for the massive dragon.

“What’s this?” You could hear his steps approach from behind, but it wasn’t safe to dart out. Not yet. “Back to being that mute little thing like before? What’s wrong; you were awful chatty with me just a little bit ago.”

You mentally kicked yourself for ever speaking a word to him. It only gave him ammunition to toy with your feelings. You sprinted out, going back towards the foot of the mountain trail and back to the side streets.

“Wait- wait!” You heard him call, but his voice was drowned out by the vibrations of wings flapping and the sharp inhale of the fiery beast swooping down along the trail.

A pair of hands gripped you hard on the forearms and sent you crashing down against a solid metal surface that landed against fallen boulders along the path. Fire burned the sky, causing a flash of sweat beneath your armour that threatened to boil you alive.

“You damnable fool!” The person who tackled you down hissed. You drew a shaky breath, and rested your head back against the metal plate of Lapp’s armour. His grip released your forearms, and you both heaved with adrenaline. “Don’t tell me I make you so suicidal.”

“Why did you save me?” You asked in a quiet, shaking voice.

“And let that bird burn you to nothing but a pile of ash? Good to know you think so highly of me, love.”

“The Patches I know would have let me die.” You hissed.

This was when his helmet tilted, in the same way it did whenever he couldn’t remember something. “Well, he sounds like a right bastard, but I don’t know what he has to do with us. Friend of yours?”

You wiggled yourself around to peer through your eye slit and into his. From what little you could see, it appeared as though his eyes were squinted, as if he were smiling. “Lapp...? But-“

The echoing of Midir’s mangled roar bounced along the exterior of the mountain. He was coming back around.

“Let’s get back in, love.” He spoke the best he could in your ear and hoisted you up to your feet to hurry back up the path and into the mouth of the tunnel. You were quicker this time, as you had a solid two seconds before Midir came by with a flurry of fire.

“Lapp-“ you started, but was cut off by Lapp grasping your hand in his and leading you back over the collapsed wall.

“Just a moment, love.” He assured you. “I just want us in private.”

“I don’t understand!” You exclaimed. You both made it over the collapsed wall, but halted your movements at the landing above the strip of flittering cloth. “You used it, did you not? The monument? You should have all your memories.”

“Of course I do, love.” Lapp trailed his hand up from yours along your arm. He took a step closer. “I remember how you were a lost little lamb, stumbling through this horrid world of ash.” He brought his other hand up to your shoulder, and threatened to caress the exposed skin between chest plate and helmet. “I remember how, even hollowed, you clung to me for warmth, and I remember that lovely little moment we shared.”

You could almost hear the smile in his voice. “I really do need to thank you. Were it not for you,” he said, “I may have never gotten my head on straight.”

“Please, my love. Let me show you my gratitude.”

His soft touches and sweet tone won you over. You nodded, and you could sense a smile grow beneath his helmet. His hand that trailed up your arm came across your shoulder to guide you closer into his embrace, while his other stroked the tender flesh of your neck beneath your helmet. You couldn’t hold the shaky whimper that bubbled from your chest and out of your lips.

“Oh, my love,” Lapp languidly spun you around to press your back against his chest plate, and drag his gloved fingers to your shoulders. “perhaps one day,” he breathed quietly beside your helmet, as if whispering into your ear. “you’ll rid yourself of all your worldly wants, you greedy guts.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Patch-“

You gazed over your shoulder just in time to watch him rip away his grip and lift his knee. Blunt, terrible pain planted itself in your lower back, and you were faced with the swirling blackness of the unknown abyss below.

Your knees collided with the fragile stone landing below, just barely an inch from the edge of the platform. You gasped for the air that was kicked out of you, but the hyena-like cackle that filled the swirling stairwell plagued your mind.

“And a fine dark soul, to you,” he waved, in cocky farewell, a flight above you. “my dove.”

-

You weren’t sure how long you sat there; crouched low into a ball, knees tucked up to your breastplate and your gloved fingers covering your face. Your helmet lay discarded in a small crater in the brickwork of the temple that mossy, stagnant water pooled into. Before you in the circular room stood the mighty statue of Gwyn, dead centre of the room, bestowing an empty hand to the crumbling statue of a figure you imitated, and a jagged crown that seemed to be a poor mock-up of his own, in the other.

It’s been a few hours, you think. Or days. You were never certain of the passage of time at the end of the world, not when the sun would always penetrate the fluffy curtain of clouds and rain down its vibrant, heavenly light. Night would never set. It was as if here time was just as convoluted, even more so, than when you dethroned- who was it again? A… Lord? A soul, perhaps?

“Stop it.” You seethed quietly to yourself. You could feel the condensation of your breaths that gathered on your fingers as your lips moved against your hands. “I’m- I’m just upset. Just upset. I remember. I remember.”

Just think, you thought to yourself. You willed your laboured breaths to calm into a slow, steady intake of air, and wandered back to the days of the only life that mattered. Visions of a defeated figure wearing king’s plate danced above your head, as well as a pale woman covered head to toe in soot, with fingers gnarled and twisted from severe burns. They didn’t have names - none that you could come up with. None of the figures in your head did.

Next came a silly man dressed head to toe in the most rotund armour you had ever seen. His shoulders shook and the onion-like helmet leaned back, as if he were laughing at something the old pyromancer, dressed in rags and animal hides, said. Behind the two jolly fellows, a man in dark attire and dark hair read aloud from his tome to a woman dressed in cream and white robes, whose eyes were glazed over. A peculiar figure behind them that resembled a gargoyle, hid in the shadows and kept a keen eye on the blind woman. And lastly, a skinny man with a hat pulled completely over his face, squatted next to the blind nun and before the scholar.

There were a few other faint figures that haunted your vision, and you swore you could hear the rhythmic banging of a hammer. The memory of your old allies calmed you enough to even out your breathing.

The dull, existential emptiness continued to plague your innards. It felt as though you exhaled abyss with each breath. A spike of paranoia made you gently pinch your cheeks. Still smooth. You opened and closed your mouth. You weren’t hollow right now, and certainly not so far gone that your mouth nearly fused closed like before. There was a single case you’d ever seen someone so severely hollowed that their lips were permanently curled back, and their mouth formed a massive crater in their face.

The fear of turning out like that again filled you with fright. You ripped your hands away from your face and hugged your sides. Your mind wandered back to Lapp, like it would again and again before you devolved into another crying fit. You thought about his kind, encouraging words, his warm and generally positive demeanour. Your stomach twisted at the memory of your meeting, and how quick you were to try to cut him down before even speaking to him.

The urge to scratch at your skin overcame you at the realization that the person who would feed you to a giant was also the person to be your guiding light, and your reason to better yourself. But there was no fooling yourself. You knew if he found you and offered you that obviously fake smile that bordered on a snarl, you would take his hand and gladly follow him - and it was that very reason you peaked around corners in your venture this far, lest you found him again like you had before. If he would just hold you close and call you dove one more time, you would follow him til the end of time.

Over the course of what felt like hours, you managed to wipe your helmet off and don it again, and shifted closer and closer to the stone archway leading out to a rocky pathway that soaked up the golden sunlight. Up along the cliff you emerged out on was a cathedral. High above, jutting out of the belfry was a set of stairs, you noticed, that led to a large dome above the painted crystal window. There was a figure in pitch black armour with the burning ensignia of your shared curse on its chest. It wielded two giant, intimidating swords.

That same dull emptiness panged in your chest as you stood tall from your slumped over position against he archway, and drew your sword from the sheath. This Knight was particularly more difficult than the other Ringed Knights, as you’ve come to affectionately call them. Once its body fell hard in a heap, you reached for the glowing bottle that radiated warmth. You brought it to your lips and felt delightful warmth flood between your lips and down your throat like a thick, warm soup, until it dissipated into nothing midway down. Instantly you felt better. You looked at the bottle and gave it a small shake. The orange, ethereal ichor was very nearly depleted.

You didn’t have time to think about it, you decided. The doors of the cathedral were calling you, and as you approached a deep, haunting voice warned you away from the place. But naturally, you ignored it.

You laid all your weight into pushing open the tall, heavy doors to the cathedral. Finally the doors opened to flood the narthex with sunlight, and to split the stagnant air. You paused at the facade, looking inward past the lobby of the cathedral to see a figure, the size of a tower within, cloaked in white.

Without a second thought you unsheathed your sword once more and stepped in. The heavy doors slammed shut behind you, from what felt like a flurry of wind that originated from within the cathedral. Darkness fell, and only the muted haze of light from the dusted over windows, would cast a glow across the tiled floor.

But then a white glow over your shoulder caught your attention.

You turned to inspect the source of the light and placed your sword back in it’s sheath. Tucked away to the left of the double doors, well hidden between a statue and the once open door, was a shimmering signature on the ground. You squint your eyes to make out the name, but the combination of the blinding light and the messily scrawled handwriting made the name illegible.

Just as you ghosted your hand over the name, the ethereal spectre appeared on it. You were forearm deep in the chest of the soft white phantom, who possessed a ridiculously large looking shield, and a strange… halberd? you had not seen before, slung over his back. Your eyes travelled up the figure, until your sights landed on a hyaena-like grin, a large nose, and a memorable bald head.

You snatched your arm away and stumbled back. Patches’ ghost stood, grinning at you, with a welcoming arm outstretched towards you. He was awaiting your response just across the incredibly thin barrier of your worlds. You swore for a moment you saw his mouth move to form a single word.

You glanced over your shoulder at the large figure clad in white. If there was one thing you learned in your travels, it was that size doesn’t equate to power, but you would be damned to come so far in your journey to… to do something, you were sure, and then be cut down.

You looked back at Patches who kept his arm out for you. Anxiety flooded your chest, and your throat felt like it would close in on itself at any moment. But a certain feeling was absent - that dull throbbing of emptiness was gone.

You reached out for Patches’ hand, and grasped it. You willed his solid form, his warmth, into existence. Your hand that you kept semi-open around his, was slowly filled out by a solid figure, stretching your fingers open to grasp yours in return. You closed your eyes.

“Hello, love.” You heard Patches say. You didn’t dare look at him. “Not still mad with me, are you?”

When you didn’t respond, Patches lowered his shield to the ground and lifted the bottom of your helmet to turn your head up to face him. You finally opened your eyes. “Come now,” he whispered. “it’s only in my nature to pull the sheet over the eyes of the slow ones. Surely you can’t fault a man for the way he is.”

“Answer me this.” you started quietly. You looked away through the eye slits in your helmet. “Your nature… was Lapp a part of that?”

Patches remained silent, but only for a moment. “I hate to admit it… but yeah. Yeah, I think he is.” He thumb rubbed the side of your hand. You still held each other.

“Then- Then everything Lapp said-“

“Oh love,” he groaned. “you’re going to drag it out of me, aren’t you?” When you nodded, he sighed. “You truly are an insatiable wench.”

His remark about you tugged at the side of your lips. You smiled only a little bit. Patches released his hand from yours to wrap around to the back of your helmet. He fiddled with the clasps, and pulled the helmet off your head. It fell to the ground with a clang. His gloved fingers came up to tangle themselves in your hair, and his thumbs lightly ran along the sides of your cheeks. “Although I have not a single want for material desires, there is a thing that passes through my mind from time to time.”

You followed him as he gently brought you back towards the corner, tucked away behind one of the statues that lined the lobby.

“What might that be?” You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“Company.” He said, and tilted his head down to rest his forehead against yours. “I won’t repeat what that sappy bloke told you,” Patches said with a small grin. “but it’s true. All of it. If you can’t believe me, you can believe him.”

“I do.” You whispered. “I believe him.”

The eerie thoughts of inevitablity crept through your skull, as they did less than an hour before. “We don’t have much time.” You told him.

“I know.” He whispered in return. “And we’ll meet again. But… But there will be no purging monument.” He said with quiet certainty. “There will be no silly trinkets to jog my memory. We’ll meet,” he promised you. “and we won’t even know it.”

You opened your eyes and adjusted your head to look up into his eyes. “There’s such a place beyond the end of the world?”

Patches shrugged. “Perhaps. Maybe not.”

The frightful thought of forgetting him again made your chest tighten the same way you felt when his very voice knocked a clue into your head about who he was. You moved to place your head against his chest, and your hands clutched the leather of his armour. Pain pricked your eyes, but no tears were able to fall. The dull throbbing of emptiness may have been gone for now, but in its place stood a stinging terror that made your mind and heart race in the worst way possible, and only for a second did you think that the dull emptiness inside you felt better than the painful paranoia plaguing your head.

“Don’t you be getting existential on me now, my love.” Patches dipped his head low to whisper into your ear. “You’re here, and I want to make every second last.”

He shifted to lift your gaze up to his, and placed his lips upon yours. What little time you had together, you both felt determined to savour every second you defiled the holy sanctity of the cathedral with your love making.


End file.
